


Band of Misfits

by midnightsnapdragon



Category: Lunar Chronicles - Marissa Meyer
Genre: Femslash, Friendship, Multi, Platonic Female/Male Relationships, Platonic Male/Male Relationships, Platonic Relationships
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-02
Updated: 2016-09-03
Packaged: 2018-04-02 11:01:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 15,063
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4057516
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/midnightsnapdragon/pseuds/midnightsnapdragon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of disconnected stories centered around our flawed, crazy, wonderful little band of misfits. In one, a library becomes the set for various student shenanigans; in another, Cinder moves into her new neighbourhood, only to find that the people next door are ... well ... a bit unusual.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Hoodies

When Scarlet first saw Kai's hoodie wardrobe of choice, she was appalled. "Gray?" she demanded. "Don't you have any sense of flair?"

"I'm an emperor," he told her, taking off the gray hoodie (a shirt underneath) and setting it on his office couch. "I never lack in flair."

Scarlet scowled and backed away from the couch as if the sweater was contagious. "You've been spending too much time around Thorne."

"Says the girl who matches her hoodie to her hair!"

"Don't make me sic Iko on your closet."

"If you were in my position, you wouldn't want to attract more attention to yourself, either." He shook his decidedly drab hoodie at her. "I want to be unnoticeable when I leave the palace. That's why I like it. That's why it's valuable."

"I know a good hoodie when I see one," Scarlet muttered.

"That's odd, considering you've only worn one your entire life."

"And you've worn too much, Your Majestic Wealthiness. You know silks and satins, but you wouldn't know street wear if it dropped to its knees before you and swore fealty!"

Someone snorted. Momentarily distracted, the two of them turned to Cinder, who was sitting at Kai's desk with a broken android. There was nothing amusing about the metallic personality chip in her hands, but she was smirking at it.

At their sudden silence, she glanced up, eyebrows raised. "Well, don't let me stop you," she said, visibly trying to smother her smile. She put the chip down and peered into the android's control panel. "You seem to be having a grand old time. Carry on."

Scarlet and Kai exchanged a glance. Then, keeping their eyes on Cinder (who went on obliviously with her work), they began to whisper.

"I've never seen her wear a hoodie."

"Does she have one?"

"Not that I know of," Kai mused. "Do you know that shop in the Kim Lee district, the one by the sashimi place?"

"Are you joking? She deserves better than that! I'll take her to France."

"I don't trust your French fashion."

"You should, Votre Majesté. Paris has been the fashion capital of the world since the second era."

"You live in Rieux," Kai pointed out.

"What, you think I haven't been to Paris before? My grand-mère got the cloth for my hoodie there."

He considered. Then, "All right. On three conditions: you take a guard. Use one of our personal podships. And please, come back in time for the gala."

"We'd have to leave today."

"Why not? A trip to France won't be a problem."

A slow smile spread over Scarlet's face. "Excellent!" she declared. Without a moment's hesitation, she strode to Kai's desk, where Cinder was now fiddling with a bunch of multicoloured wires.

Scarlet put a hand on her shoulder. "We are going on a shopping trip," she announced.

Cinder looked up, appearing to emerge from a kind of trance. "Hmm?"

Scarlet grinned. She said, very deliberately, "Put on something respectable and let's go to Paris."

That particular combination of words didn't seem to make sense to her. "Paris?" Cinder repeated incredulously. "What are you - "

Scarlet was already dragging her from her chair. Kai watched with an affectionate sort of amusement as Cinder struggled against her grip and protested the sudden change of plans.

"We can go to my farm when we're done," Scarlet said soothingly as she pushed Cinder out the door. "We can go see Wolf! What do you say? We haven't seen him in a while. It would do you good to get out of the city smog and get some fresh air." This last was coupled with a glare at Kai, as if New Beijing's considerable industries were all his fault.

"Don't take too many detours," Kai called after them.

Cinder cast him a panicked look over her shoulder - a look that said "You traitor, how can you let her do this?" - just as the door swung shut.

"Knowing Scarlet," he muttered, swinging away from the door, "they'll end up taking a tour of Europe."


	2. Shenanigans

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set in book three while the crew is planning the kidnapping of the emperor.

He would rather take his chances with Sybil.

Iko sauntered, skipped, and ran around the ship like a lunatic. She cartwheeled through the halls and in the cargo bay, popping out from between the crates without warning and occasionally kicking someone in the face. By accident, of course. She talked so much Jacin was surprised Cinder didn't have to replace her synthetic tongue, and played monkey in the riggings, sending dust and the occasional nail down on their heads.

To his horror, the android was a hugger. Iko hugged everyone – no matter if they hugged her back or pushed her away. No one would deny her. When she tried hugging him, a particularly well-delivered Samnidian Manoeuver let her know that he would not put up with her, even if everyone else did. 

And after several playful perched-on-the-door-frame, hanging-from-the-ceiling ambushes, Jacin got into the habit of looking up before entering a room.

Once, he tried telling her to take her happytime carnival behaviour somewhere else. Iko let him know exactly what she thought of that by shooting confetti at him from a pistol. He had no idea where she'd gotten confetti on a cargo ship, but when he searched for the stash (to pour into the disposal chute), it was nowhere to be found.

By the end of the second day of them planning the kidnapping, Jacin’s nerves were positively fried. He remarked multiple times to Cinder that he didn't see how Iko's slaphappy shenanigans would play into crashing a wedding and thwarting an evil dictator.

The cyborg wasn't much help, though. In revenge for his insult to the emperor, Cinder started encouraging Iko to hide in his closet and play jack-in-the-box.

Enough was enough. He knew how to work with minimal resources and he refused to be bested by this half-crazy android. Which was why Iko walked into her room one day and was deluged by three boxes' worth of cereal – plus an entire can of soup.

When she stomped to the kitchen where he was calmly having dinner, clothing ruined and covered in bran flakes, he coolly denied having anything to do with it. She narrowed her eyes at him and left without another word.


	3. Adventures between Dusty Bookshelves

**i.**

There was a collective gasp in the librarians’ office as Anita the Reference Librarian held the suggestions box upside-down and a couple dozen paper slips poured out.

“We have another one!” screeched Emilie, and plunged her hand into the pile. 

From her desk in the corner, Cress, wearing a name tag pinning her as another reference librarian, craned her neck to try to see what was going on.

With a dramatic flourish, Emilie pulled something out of the mound of book suggestions and complaints, and clutched in her fingers was –

A periwinkle paper heart.

“IT’S MINE!”

There was a blur of blue hair across the room and before anyone could blink, Emilie was on the floor and Iko was in possession of the blue heart. She scanned the message scribbled across the paper, and a dreamy smile came across her lips. “How sweet!”

Anita put her hands on her hips irritably. “And what makes you think it was meant for you?”

Iko pressed the heart to her chest and closed her eyes. “Blue.”

“What?”

“It’s blue. _Obviously_ meant for me.” She tossed her head for emphasis and a mass of braids hit Anita across the face.

“What does it say?” trilled Peony, a sweet little thing. Iko angled the paper at her, and she actually swooned. “Oh, don’t you get it? Whoever wrote this wanted to get a message to me without anyone knowing. I bet I even know who it is.” She stretched out her fingers for the heart.

“Let me see,” Anita snapped, starting forward. “I doubt it’s for either of you –“

Iko backed away from them, hackles rising – and promptly tripped over Emilie and flattened her, who had been trying to get up off the floor. The blue heart fluttered through the air, was snatched by Peony, who was practically tackled by Anita, who made a wild grab for the heart and missed, and all four of them ended up in a hissing, flailing mass of limbs on the floor.

Cress calmly hopped off the desk and plucked the blue paper heart off the floor. Ignoring Emilie’s indignant shriek, she turned it toward the light so that she could read the message scribbled in black pen.

 _The reference librarian is super cute. Could you please write her name and number on a paper and leave it in my reserved copy of_ The Seven Stones?

**ii.**

“Look,” said Scarlet, rubbing her forehead, “that doesn’t help. If you can’t tell me the name –“

“It has a blue cover!” protested the cargo ship boy, whose devil-may-care grin had been replaced with the frazzled look of someone studying for a very long, very important test … and lost their history textbook. “How many of those could there be, really?”

Tempted to take the nearest blue book and smack it over his head, she sighed. “If you’re too proud to ask your teacher what it’s called, that’s your problem.”

He gave her a pleading look. “You’re the only librarian who’s been willing to help me. If you don’t … I’m doomed.”

Scarlet twisted her mouth but didn’t say anything, just turned her back and started down the nearest bookshelf passage.

“Hey, wait! Where are you going?”

“I’m going to do something useful while you go ask a friend what your textbook is called.” She glanced over her shoulder. “And I’m only here for another half hour. After that, you’ll have to ask Jacin.”

Behind her, the cargo ship boy paled.

**iii.**

_Bardugo, Barley, Baron, Bartemius –_

There was a sound behind him like a creaking door. Kai glanced over his shoulder, peering into the shadowy gloom of the library.

No one there. 

Of course; who would be here at this hour? Only he was losing sleep over the fact that someone had gotten to the first edition copy of The Glass Bean and checked it out before him.

Assured that no one was about to walk in on him rooting through the library lending records in the middle of the night, he turned back to the cabinet and adjusted the flashlight gripped in his teeth before shuffling on to the C’s.

 _Cabet, Calshie, Carlucino, Catrine, Causticia_ – aha! 

Kai took the flashlight from his mouth, and with the other hand, pulled out the lending card for The Glass Bean by Alfred Cazzin. He scanned it feverishly.

There was a single name under the column for students’ IDs:

WINTER HAYLE-BLACKBURN

Kai hummed in satisfaction and carefully replaced the card. He had his book thief; now all that was left was to find this Winter and confront her about it – he had reserved the book first, after all –

He shut the cabinet, swung around with the flashlight beam cutting through the darkness, and damn near screamed when he found himself face-to-face with one very suspicious Jacin Clay.

“What,” he said, squinting at Kai with blatant disdain, “are you doing?”

Kai fell back against the cabinets and let out a shuddering breath. His heart had leapt into his throat – he’d been sure that he was alone in a very dark, very _empty_ library. _Stars._

“I could ask you the same thing,” he managed, straightening with difficulty.

“I happen to be investigating the break-and-enter at the back door.” Jacin tilted his head, the very echo of an owl that had scented a mouse. “You wouldn’t know anything about that … would you?”

“Nothing at all,” said Kai, a bit of his confidence returning. “I’m here on the request of one of the reference librarians, to make sure that nothing is out of order. She – uh – texted me a couple of hours ago and was beside herself with worry, so I decided to help out.”

Jacin raised an eyebrow. “Really.”

Kai swallowed. The story wasn’t plausible in the least, but it was the best he could come up with after being scared out of his wits. “Yep. Well, I’ve actually just finished” – he patted the cabinet and winced when the hollow metal clanged loudly – “so, er, I’ll just be on my way.”

He edged his way around Jacin, hoping the other boy wouldn’t hear his thudding pulse, and did his best to _walk_ to the door instead of running. But the threshold, he hesitated.

Oh, heck. It was irresistible. Kai turned back around. 

“It’s not technically a break-and-enter,” he told Jacin matter-of-factly, “if nothing was broken. I mean, you can’t really call what’s on that door a lock.”

 _Then_ he ran.

**iv.**

Letting out a slow breath, Jacin turned to face the filing cabinets.

 _All right,_ he thought. The original diaries of Cyprus Blackburn had to be in the Restricted Section, which was under lock and key. He’d brought bobby pins and all sorts of wires, but there was always a chance that it would be more than a simple bolt – in which case he would be forced to use some more … incriminating entry tactics.

Actually, he’d be lucky if they hadn’t put an electronic lock on that door. Jacin didn’t know how to get past those yet.

Maybe he would ask that small student librarian to teach him.

He wasn’t a rule-breaker, or even a rule-bender, by nature; his record had to be spotless right along with his resume if he was to get the doctor’s internship he wanted. Thankfully he’d gotten rid of that other boy, who was evidently another lock-picker – nothing like faking authority to make someone clear out. He needed to get those documents without anyone poking in their nose.

Cyprus Blackburn had gone down in history as a perfectly harmless researcher of the effects of ionizing radiation on the human mind – but Jacin knew better. After his report, Blackburn’s medicines would forever be under suspicion.

As they should be.

After searching for a few minutes, Jacin found a map of the grand library in the head librarian’s desk– a true map, not the abridged version they gave the students – and scanned it. There: the Restricted Section was just out that door and down that hallway …

Checking once more time that he was alone, Jacin crept out of the rows and rows of bookshelves, leaving the office as spotless as if nothing at all had happened there.

**v.**

_There it is._

Cress faced off with the bookshelf like a boxer ready to fight; feet planted firmly apart, hands curled into fists. For several minutes she just stood there and glared up at the very top shelf, where the bright yellow volume winked down at her.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” she said through her teeth. Then she remembered that she was in a public place, and looked round; but all the student hubbub was near the study area. She was quite free to curse and rage at that book to her heart’s desire.

Steeling herself, Cress backed up a few steps – briefly considered the sheer ridiculousness of what she was going to try – then launched herself at the top shelf, hands clawing up for the yellow book. Her fingers didn’t even graze the spine. She thumped back down on the ground and hissed, actually _hissed,_ in frustration.

“Do you want me to get that for you?”

She turned, fire already blooming in her cheeks. Behind her was a hulk of a man, twice her height, with a wrestler’s build, whom she’d seen around a few times with Scarlet. He nearly took up the entire width of the library shelf corridor, but he hunched his shoulders and kept his hands in his pockets as if he was all too aware of his size.

Stammering, Cress unconsciously backed away. “I-I-I was just – uh – trying to …” Her hands went up in self-defence, though maybe more to hide from her own embarrassment than from him. “… get a book. Obviously. Um …”

He started forward, not meeting her eyes. Cress pressed herself up against the shelves, watching as the student, without even stretching, reached up and plucked the yellow book from its place.

He held it out to her wordlessly.

Cress took it, feeling confused for no reason. “Thanks, uh …?”

“Ze’ev,” he muttered, his gaze flicking from the floor to her eyes and back to the floor again. Fidgeting. Uncertain of how he’d be received. “But most people just call me Wolf.”

A tentative smile curled her lips. It wasn’t every day that she met someone who was even shyer than herself. “Okay. I’m Cress.”

Wolf met her eyes and seemed to relax a little. “If you ever need … assistance, I’m usually in the study area after school hours.” Then he gestured at a door set into the library wall a few metres away. “But just so you know, I think there’s a stool in that broom cupboard.”

**vi.**

_There are actually quite a few reference librarians. Which one do you mean?_  
.  
A week later, Cress had opened the twice-returned copy of The Seven Stones (with the entire cabinet of student librarians hovering over her shoulder) and pulled out the mysterious sender’s reply.  
.  
 _The short blonde one with freckles who likes to sing – she does work here, right?_  
.  
Anita gasped. Iko squealed and hugged the blonde in question, as happy as if the note had been addressed to her. The rivalry was forgotten.

But Cress had frozen to her seat, eyes pinned to the scrap of paper in her trembling hands. She had a secret admirer. She had a secret admirer. She had a - 

**vii.**

“Excuse me?”

The sleeping girl didn’t move. Her arms lovingly encircled a huge, dusty volume – something about Bohemian mythology. She was _surrounded_ by stacks and stacks of huge and dusty volumes. It was a wonder the desk hadn’t collapsed under their weight.

“We’re closed.” Scarlet nudged the girl’s chair with her foot. “Wake up, or you’ll be in here overnight.”

Not a sound. The girl’s soft breath rippled the curtain of black curls that screened her face, tumbled over her shoulders, draped the entire desk. She was dead to the world.

Scarlet sighed and checked her watch. _The jobs I get stuck with in this library._ She should have been home by now, but Emilie had asked her to do the last rounds and here was this history student in the middle of a hundred tomes that she hadn’t even known existed on their shelves … and it was past their closing hours.

When she looked up from her watch, a pair of startling amber eyes blinked up at her.

“Hello,” said a wandering, melodic voice that would have been less out of place in an enchanted forest. The girl lifted her head with a sleepy exhalation and looked about her – the empty corridors, the few lights that remained on in the library. The impatient student librarian standing by the desk and tapping her foot. “Where did everyone go?”

“We’re closed,” Scarlet repeated, wondering if pushing this girl out of the library would be considered impolite. “Please go home.”

“But I was” – a big yawn that somehow turned out graceful – “just getting to the good part.” Her head slumped back down on the yellow pages.

Shaking her head, Scarlet fished her keys out of her pocket and turned toward the entrance. _First the cargo ship boy, now this? I am not a babysitter._ “Hurry up, will you?” she called over her shoulder, turning into the next passage. “You’ll miss the late bus.”

But the genteel history girl had dozed off again.


	4. Small Talk

The man was tall and built like a warrior, the effect of musculature enhanced by a business suit, with sleek blonde hair pulled into a tail at the nape of his neck. _Elite-bachelor-style,_ Iko thought, observing him thoughtfully from her taxi across the street. 

Yes, he certainly did have that look about him – the severe blue eyes, the handsome jawline … he could have been a spy in a James Bond novel.

Not that Iko was gawking, of course. Merely appreciating the view. There wasn’t much to do in the city square on a hot August day; she’d been stuck in this cab for _ages,_ fanning herself with stifling air coming through the open windows, and she couldn’t even step outside for an iced drink.

Dealing with boredom was not her strong suit.

Propping up her elbow up on the window-sill, she went back to analysing the man.

Handsome enough to match Winter … now there was a thought! He didn’t look like the friendly type – even from his distance, Iko could see the disdainful way he looked down his nose at every passer-by – but who could meet Winter and not love her to pieces?

 _I am a genius,_ she thought, checking her reflection in the side-view mirror. Her break was in five minutes. She would go over there and strike up a conversation, and once she’d shown him a picture of Winter he wouldn’t be able to refuse meeting her. It was officially a plan.

Yet he was just standing there on the sidewalk, one hand calmly raised palm-out – what was he –?

“He needs a taxi,” Iko muttered to herself, and her first thought was that she had to get to the man before any of her colleagues did.

_Change of plan._

She couldn’t twist the key fast enough. As soon as the ignition hummed beneath her, she stomped on the gas pedal and pulled away from the curb.

Less than a minute later, she halted the cab in front of the man.

“Hello,” she said brightly, rolling down the window. “How may I –“

“Dragons Mill,” the man snapped, sliding smoothly into the backseat. A briefcase thudded onto the seat beside him. “And be quick about it.”

Iko almost flinched, appalled at the utter dismissal in his tone. What a cad – to come in without so much as a ‘hello’!

Then she remembered: the way to a successful driver-customer relationship was to reciprocate their attitude. If they were chatty, you chatted too; if they were quiet, you allowed a comfortable silence; if they came in sobbing a waterfall, you gave them your handkerchief and didn't ask.

So Iko turned around and deadpanned, “That’ll be forty.” 

Two twenties floated neatly onto the passenger seat. The man said nothing.

“Dragon’s Mill it is, then,” she announced to no one in particular, and pulled smoothly onto the main road of the city.

Familiar shops and street-corners went by, window-decorations and red flags strung across rooftops. She saw her friend Cinder walking toward the market, tugging no less than six repaired machines behind her on rope, and honked. Cinder looked up just in time to wave.

Several times Iko opened her mouth to say something, but remembered the man’s completely horrible greeting and resolved once more to silence.

She drove onto the highway that would take them to the train station. Five minutes passed. The temptation to speak was getting stronger.

But all the man did was stare out the window with no expression whatsoever. Iko kept glancing into the rear-view mirror, admiring the piece of eye candy that had walked into her cab. Antisocial or not, he would be quite the catch … assuming, that is, that he would allow himself to be reeled in.

If not – well, she enjoyed a challenge now and then.

Humming to herself, she turned on the radio. The voice of Florence Welch echoed through the taxi’s hidden speakers: _the stars, the moon … they have all been blown out …_

“Turn it off, please,” the man said stiffly.

Iko pressed her lips together - who objected to music? - but obliged. "You aren't a fan of Florence and the Machine?"

He arched one eyebrow in disdain. “Never heard of them.”

“All right. What radio station would you prefer?”

“I’d prefer silence.”

 _Wow, okay._ “Just making conversation,” she chirped, and veered off the highway.

They cut through the town of Albatrox, a small place that was not much more than suburbs and textile factories. Ten minutes passed in silence, unusual for Iko, who often talked to herself when no one else would.

Her customer didn’t want to talk. And, as her tyrannical boss Adri loved to say, _the customer is always right._

But since when did anyone listen to Adri?

Iko sighed through her nose. She really had no excuse to be impolite, or to descend to this man’s level of hostility. She was better than that.

“So where are you off to, today?”’

“Dragon’s Mill,” he replied, sounding bored.

She tossed an imploring glance over her shoulder. “Well, I know that bit. I mean where are you going from there? I understand it's quite the underground crossroads ... or do you have business at the station itself?"

"It's none of your concern."

“If you’re carrying a bomb into my cab, I’d like to know about it, thank you very much,” she jested, with a little laugh.

The man waved a hand in annoyance as if swatting a fly. “I’m under no obligation to tell you what I do.”

Iko made a face at the road. What a shame that he was so unfriendly, that he couldn’t even take a joke.

Maybe she was taking the wrong approach?

“I’m Iko, by the way.”

He made a disinterested sound.

“What’s _your_ name?” she prodded, watching him in the mirror.

“I don’t see a point in this. If I gave you a false name, there’s no way you would be able to tell.”

“Oh, please. I can always tell when someone’s lying to me.”

He gave a smug, condescending smile. _“Really.”_

Iko’s fingers twitched on the wheel with the sudden desire to chuck something at his handsome face.

“I believe,” she declared, mimicking his almost formal speech, “that introductions are a significant part of human connection. You know _my_ name –“

“I never asked for it.”

“– and what I do, so it seems only fair that I know the same about you.” Iko raised her eyebrows, feeling strangely determined to get some facts, no matter how insignificant. “So, since you won’t give your name, I’ll ask the next best thing: what do you do?”

“You really don’t want to know,” the man drawled.

“Oh, I think I do. It’s a harmless question that should have a pretty harmless answer. Maybe you’re just a douche that thinks his job is better than everyone else’s, but I’ve already figured that out, so why don’t you just _tell me?”_

He cut his eyes at her. “You’re a snoopy one, aren’t you?”

“Curiosity 101, stranger: when you tell someone that they _don’t want to know,_ they will never, ever let it go.”

There was a pause as he considered her. Then, he shrugged, a humorless smile tugging at his mouth. “I work for Blackburn Incorporated.”

Iko's hands jerked on the wheel. There was a screech of tires, and a shout of surprise from the businessman, as the cab swerved out of line and they were both thrown to one side. Angry honking issued from behind them as several cars hit the brakes.

Breathing hard, Iko pulled back into her lane and raised an apologetic hand to the drivers behind her. Then she swivelled in her seat to fully look at her passenger. "Blackburn Incorporated," she repeated, as if there was some other Blackburn. "You work for _Blackburn Incorporated?"_

The man only raised one eyebrow at her, unimpressed, as if to say, _I cannot believe I must deal with such rabble._

Iko turned back around and blew out a long breath, puffing her cheeks. She couldn't decide if she wanted to prolong the drive to grill him for details, or if she wanted him out of her cab as soon as humanly possible. 

Yes, Blackburn Inc. was famous – but that wasn't why Iko had reacted like The Passenger had tossed a hydrogen bomb into the front seat.

Blackburn Incorporated had been born during the Cold War, when secrecy and civic distrust was at its highest. Made up of the world's academic elite, it was notorious for its advances in biological warfare and spy-tech, which made it very, very valuable. It became an entity in its own right - one that sent agents all over the world; one that allied with and betrayed other societies; one that sold its loyalty (and weapon supply) to the highest bidder.

Theirs was a network spanning three continents and more than thirty countries; a silent, deadly web.

Because of some legal technicalities and well-connected lawyers, Blackburn Inc. survived. Its international alliances turned into trade agreements, its undercover workers taking on innocent business roles – sales reps and marketers and shop owners – and just like that, Blackburn turned over a new leaf, never to cross the law again.

Or so it would seem.

Some said Blackburn had never lost its penchance toward the crime business. Some said it was involved in grand conspiracy plots across the world. Some said it had moles in the government, that they were watching you ... this very moment.

No one had ever been able to prove it, but everyone knew it all the same: it was an organization of spies and hypnotists hiding in plain sight. 

Their people could be anyone - _become_ anyone - and no one would ever be the wiser.

"Well then." Iko gave herself a shake. Potential mafia aside, this could be the perfect opportunity to get some highly controversial answers. “I don’t suppose you could tell me whether Levana Blackburn really gave her husband a heart attack? See, I heard he rolled over one morning and got a good look at his wife, and just –“

“Idle gossip,” the passenger scoffed, turning once more to the window. “Now, if it’s not too much to ask, can this old cab go any faster? We can’t be moving more than sixty miles an hour –“’

“Sixty’s the speed _limit,_ smart one, and if you insult my taxi again and I’ll throw you out on the street.”

“Yes, and I’ll report you the very next day. Along with a customer review that will bring you to court.”

Iko ground her teeth. _There goes my plan to introduce him to Winter._ She hoped she would never have to see this guy again.

Mercifully, they were pulling into the aboveground area of Dragon's Mill Station. She swept the cab into the parking lot and halted.

"Just out of curiosity," she wondered aloud, a last-ditch attempt at lightheartedness, "was our cab being tailed? That stuff happens to you Blackburn people, right?"

The man's eyes darkened. Without another word, he stepped gracefully out of the cab and shut the door. His sharp footsteps echoed further away.

Iko sat there for a moment. Was this his idea of a joke, a prank on a suspicious believer of the rumours? Judging by the past fifteen minutes, the man wasn't the joking type. One thing was for certain, though - this would make a great story. She would have everyone's attention at the dinner table tonight.

Before she could drive off, though, the cab door was flung open, and the businessman materialized in the backseat again.

Iko gave him a strange look. "What –"

"Change of plan." He tossed a hundred-dollar-bill over the passenger seat and swiftly pulled down the seat belt.

Despite her delight at the gross overpayment, Iko ignored it. "What happened to your business agreement, or whatever it was?"

"Just drive!" he snapped. "Back to the market. Anywhere. Now."

Iko didn't move. Her foot tapped the accelerator, tantalizing. "I am not going anywhere," she said calmly, "until you tell me your name – and explain yourself. From what I can tell, you aren't coming back just for the pleasure of my company.

He looked furious, but when his eyes strayed out the window, the anger drained away, replaced with agitation. "Jacin Clay," he spat. "And suffice it to say that not all rumours about Blackburn Inc. are just rumours."

Iko's eyes lit up in delicious disbelief. Slowly, savouring every syllable, she guessed, _“Agent Clay?”_

He clenched his jaw.

A slow smile spread across her face. "I know a safe place. You can pretend to be my roommate's cousin - there's a definite resemblance. Blond hair and blue –"

"I can act. Just go!"

She waited.

Jacin gave her a look saturated with annoyance and, finally, relented. _"Please."_

Iko beamed. "Will do," she said, revving the engine. "But fair warning, Agent Clay, your place at our dinner table has a price. My friends will want to know everything."


	5. Papparazzo

"Please, Cinder? Pretty please?”

“No,” said Cinder firmly, buttoning the green cloak at her throat.

Iko pouted. _“Pleeeeeaaase?”_

Flipping the hood over her head, the queen of Luna turned to stalk down the corridor. “I said no, Iko. End of discussion.” 

Iko watched her walk away, lips pursed. Just for a moment. Then she caught up to Cinder and fell in step. “Just five minutes, I promise. Nothing too personal. You won’t even know I’m there!”

_“Iko!”_ Cinder whirled around so fast that her hood slipped off, and slashed an arm through the air. “Under no circumstances will I _ever_ allow you to film me and Kai on a date, and that is final!”

“But it would do _so much_ for the world if they could see that” – she couldn’t temper a knowing grin “– _an alliance_ is in the making.”

Cinder opened her mouth, probably to tell Iko where to stuff it, but Iko didn’t let her. “You’re an actual royal couple, Cinder, and it’s not even staged! Do you know how often these things happen?” (Quick net search.) “About once every four hundred years! And remember how at the last Commonwealth ball, you were the only ones dancing for a whole _three songs!_ Such a romantic waltz. I swear, Cinder, the number of _looks_ you exchange with him on a daily basis –“ Iko’s voice rose through two octaves until she was more squealing than talking.

Jaw set in annoyance, Cinder swept on, the cloak billowing out behind her. She could really look intimidating if she wanted to – and, more than occasionally, even when she didn’t mean to.

They rounded a corner. Iko clasped her hands under her chin and sighed happily. “If it’s the last thing I do, I’m going to get one of those _looks_ on tape. It’s just too beautiful not to preserve for all time.”

“Please.” Cinder spoke through clenched teeth. “Please, for all the stars, don’t push your swoony psychodrama on me right now. If you care about me at all, let me go to Kai alone. The last thing I want is for the world and media to watch us 24/7, and – Iko?”

Iko had stopped walking in the middle of the hallway. She was looking at Cinder in a stunned sort of way.

“… Iko?”

“You just quoted Jacin.” The words were spoken with the utmost horror.

Cinder’s eyes widened. “I did not.”

“You did! I was right here. You said ‘swoony psychodrama’. Oh, my stars, what is the world coming to?”

“That … was a fluke,” she said slowly, frowning, like she didn’t want to believe it either.

“You two are much more alike than you realize,” Iko said darkly. Then she sniffed. “If it makes you happy, I’ll drop it. Filming you and Kai. But it would really have upped my ratings, just saying …”

Cinder shook her head and stopped. They had arrived at the entrance to one of the secret passageways that (it turned out) wove through New Beijing Palace. This one in particular would lead outside, to the city.

“What would make me _really_ happy is getting to Kai without being recognized by the guards. And without Kinney realizing I’m gone.” A rare twinkle came into Cinder’s eyes. “So could you, I don’t know, maybe … _distract him_ until I get back?”

Slowly, like the door of opportunity swinging open, Iko’s lips curved into a wicked grin. “It would be my pleasure.”

Cinder winked and disappeared into the passageway.


	6. The Silver Circle

**i.**

Neighbours leave each other alone. That was the golden rule. Cinder came to the Silver Circle fully expecting it to be no different from the apartment building where she had lived with Adri, where she exchanged trivial hellos with the people next door and nothing else – where everyone kept to themselves. In fact, she hoped dearly that her strange new neighbourhood would not live up to its strange reputation and allow her to settle in _in peace._

She really should have known better.

Cinder had not been in her new home for twenty minutes – the dust of the moving truck hadn’t settled – before there was an enthusiastic knock at the door. Feeling apprehensive, she tightened her ponytail, squared her shoulders, and stepped out onto the porch.

Standing there like a one-woman welcoming committee was a black girl about Cinder’s age, smiling brightly and bouncing on her toes with excitement, nearly spilling the muffin pile in the basket she carried. Actually, it was more of a muffin pyramid. Cinder blinked.

“Hi!” the girl sang, like she couldn’t wait to shower the newcomer with pastries. “Welcome to the Silver Circle!”

“Uh – hi,” Cinder said cautiously.

“I’m Winter,” said the young lady, holding up the basket as one might a prize-winning cake. “My housewarming gift. Well, the first. There’s lots more coming. We haven’t had a new neighbour in _years._ We’re all really excited to meet you at the party!”

Cinder gave a nervous laugh. “Er … what party?”

“The housewarming party, of course.”

“Oh! No, no, I’m not having one. Sorry.”

Winter winked at her. “We were counting on that, actually. I hope you’ll like it.”

“Like what?” A headache was coming on. “Who’s _we?”_

“All in good time,” Winter said mysteriously, looking like she very much enjoyed her position as the vague messenger. She pressed the muffin basket into Cinder’s hands. “Go on. Enjoy. Let me know if there’s too much lemon or not enough spice.”

Cinder took it numbly. Winter beamed and danced away down the steps – “We’ll give you the specifics later!” – before skipping out of sight.

Cinder stared after her.

Then looked down at the muffins.

**ii.**

It was a beautiful home. Many-roomed, with soaring walls, spacious … too much for one person. All her mother’s furniture had been left exactly as it had been the day she died. That night, Cinder walked about the rooms in her bathrobe, running her fingers over the delicate vases and mahogany tables, the gilt frame of the mirror in the hall, the luxurious curtains around her four-poster bed. Taking her time going down the wide, sweeping staircase. 

It was amazing. It was unbelievable. It was impossible that this all belonged to _her._

Wrapping the belt more tightly around her waist, Cinder walked into the master bedroom. Right away she paused: none of the lights were on, yet she could see right well in the dark. A glance out the window told her why. The half-moon was clearly visible through the glass balcony doors, and it shone in the dark sky like some great white lantern, spilling a silver glow through the room. Everything was blissfully quiet.

For a moment, the house felt more alone and yawning empty than ever.

Cinder shook off the melancholy. Briskly she flung open the balcony doors and stepped out into the crisp night air. Stars were sprinkled overhead from horizon to horizon, and faintly, across the darkened hills and fields and orchards, she could see the lights of the city.

Bracing her forearms against the cold metal railing, she allowed herself to close her eyes and take a moment to breathe.

Her mother’s will had come through a couple of weeks ago, giving her a new name, an inheritance, and the shock of her life. _Selene Blackburn,_ the rightful owner of the family manor, was free to leave the Linh household as soon as she came of age.

Except Adri hadn’t liked the idea of Cinder leaving her custody to go live in some dead actress’s manor – hadn’t liked it one bit. They’d had a frustrating string of fights and phone calls with a lawyer, thanks to Adri insisting that the manor should not go to Channary Blackburn’s daughter, but to the daughter’s guardian.

Good riddance. Cinder’s blood boiled just to think of it.

“She hangs upon the cheek of night,” someone called across the void, “like a rich jewel in an Ethiop’s ear.”

She started violently and whipped around. In the next grand house over, on the gleaming white balcony that jutted out into the darkness, was a figure – the house’s occupant. It was a young man around her age, and he had his arms raised dramatically towards her, as if serenading a Juliet Capulet’s beauty.

The Silver Circle was a secluded, tight-knit, extravagant neighbourhood. But if rumours were any indication …

“She speaks, yet she says nothing – what of that?” he went on. Even from this distance, Cinder could see him smiling.

… then its inhabitants were a little on the batty side.

She angled her body toward him, opened her mouth – but what was she supposed to say? The first thing that came to her mind was to point out that he’d just quoted from two different soliloquys, but there was really no way to respond to a greeting Shakespeare quotation except by quoting back.

“Thou knowest the mask of night is on my face, else would a maiden blush bepaint my cheek,” she said hesitantly, and instantly winced – she was incapable of delivering a good line.

But the young man’s face lit up anyway. “You’ve read Shakespeare!”

“A bit, yeah.”

“Any fan of the Bard is a friend of mine.” He spread his arms wide, encompassing their balconies, the moon, the whole midnight sky. “Welcome to the Silver Circle.”

In that heartbeat – just a sliver of a second, when he tipped up his head and silver light shone over the planes of his face – he could have been … he almost looked like …

 _Like a prince in one of Peony’s manga books?_ Cinder thought, berating herself.

Still, her lips twitched She had no idea if this was how neighbour-to-neighbour introductions usually went, but at least it wasn’t the painful small talk she was used to. “And those who aren’t?”

“Aren’t what?”

“Fans of the Bard.”

“Oh,” he said, waving a hand, “they’re my friends too. Even Jacin. You’ll see – he likes to think he doesn’t need friends, and he can be a real pain, but we’re all there for him anyway. There’s no one better to have on your team every full moon.”

Cinder drew her brows in confusion. “Every … what do you mean?”

The boy looked about to speak, but then something like delight came over his face. “That’s _right!_ You don’t know yet!” A hint of playfulness crept into his tone. “Well, I won’t say anything about it now, but you should keep your schedule clear that day. And every full moon from now on, if possible. We have a neighbourhood tradition.” And it was hard to tell in the dark, but it seemed to Cinder that he winked.

“Okay,” she said slowly. First Winter, now this guy – how many surprises were they planning on springing on her?

The thread of their conversation seemed to have vanished. The young man put his hands into his pockets. “Well, anyhow, we’re really pleased to have you,” he told her, turning to go back inside. “But you’re probably tired from all the moving …”

“Wait.”

He stopped, and looked back at her. She took a breath. “My name is Cinder. Well, technically I’m Selene, but – I mean, that’s my legal name. I didn’t actually know it until a while ago. So … you can call me Cinder.”

Holding her gaze, he bowed. Every bit the eighteenth-century gentleman. “Huang Kai. A pleasure to meet you, Cinder.” Walking backwards, he tipped an imaginary hat at her. “Good night, good night; parting is such sweet sorrow – “

“– that I shall say good night till it be morrow,” she finished, and could not help a smile.

**iii.**

Dawn came with the rich, majestic rise-and-fall of someone’s voice, the kind of sound you only ever heard on the radio or in movies. _Opera._ Cinder peered groggily from behind a mound of pillows at the window, where the sky had lightened with streaks of pink and gold.

Knowing she wouldn’t be able to sleep again, she gave a muffled groan and sat up, rubbing her eyes. Her fuzzy mind strained to make out the lyrics. Why did opera always have to be unintelligible, with its obtuse vowels and elusive consonants, so that trying to make _anything_ out of it would drive you nuts?

Clutching the knit blanket around her shoulders, Cinder got to her feet and shuffled to the balcony, where she had stood only last night and quoted Shakespeare to a stranger. Now, as she stepped out and felt a pleasant breeze caress her cheek, her feet bare on the chilly marble, she looked toward the house on the right, half-expecting Kai to be there again.

He was not. The opera singer was the only one outside at this hour.

She stood on the balcony of the house to the left. At first, sunlight shone into Cinder’s eyes and she couldn’t make out the singer’s petite form, pale and pastel against the bright sunrise; then her vision adjusted and she saw a small young woman standing at the pearly railing, her eyes shut tight to the world, a fantastically long braid of blonde hair was swept over one shoulder. She couldn’t have been more than five feet tall. 

And it didn’t seem that she was singing for anyone. She sang to the fields and the dew on the grass, for the growing fruit in the orchards far away; she sang to the morning, and she sang for herself. Magic poured through every syllable as she raised her arms to the rising sun and beamed. 

The last note wavered in the air and fell quiet. The spell broke. Cinder blinked, realizing that her jaw was hanging, and snapped it shut – she’d frozen where she stood, eyes wide with awe. It was hard to believe that such a powerful voice could be hiding in this wisp of a human being.

“That was,” she began. Her voice was hoarse with sleep. She cleared her throat and started over: “That was beautiful.”

With a gasp, the singer whirled around. And just like that – with a slump of the shoulders and the music abandoned – she was no longer a harbinger of the dawn. Only a timid young girl.

“Th-thanks,” came her small voice, sounding tinny and far away. Cinder stepped forward a little to hear better, and the girl stepped back, hugging herself. “Y-you must be … I mean, I knew you were coming but I didn’t …”

“I don’t usually get up this early,” Cinder assured her, raising her voice a little to be heard over the gap between their balconies. “Your singing woke me –“

“I’m so sorry!” gasped the girl.

“– just a little – “

But the singer had already turned and fled back inside. Her balcony doors swung shut.

Cinder put her head into her hands and dragged them down her face. She wondered if everything since her arrival had been, and would be, part of some crazy dream. 

**iv.**

"All right!” Iko yelled through the loudspeaker, her feet planted apart in the stance of a battle-herald. _“Are you ready?”_

“READY!” the crowd screamed back at her.

“Then” – Iko sucked in a breath, and bellowed: “GOOOOOOOOOOOO!”

The crowd surged and ran into different directions. Thorne dashed to the backyard; Cress scampered to the shady front lawn; Winter was off with a _wheeee!_ to the spacious porch and the supplies they’d stashed in the bushes, the day before.

Yes. The crowd consisted of three people.

But that’s all right, Iko thought, fisting her hands on her hips and squinting at her comrades’ progress around the Blackburn manor. They were a decent crowd. This was her army, and with their help, she was going to throw the best party ever. 

They wielded collapsible tables and bags full of food, streamers and “Welcome!” signs, confetti and weighted helium balloons. Thorne had hoisted a portable sprinkler over his back, having insisted that no party was complete without a rainbow, while Cress pulled her weight with some board games and Twister rugs. Winter – well, Iko had no idea what she had up her sleeve, but the porch seemed to be in the midst of a slow-motion explosion of colour. 

It was a battlefield. They were a blur of motion, shaking out the dance mats and picnic blankets, spreading baked goods across rickety tables with astonishing speed. Some might call it a nut job – but no! This was _art._ And what’s artistic talent if you won’t use it for the benefit of your community? Or, more specifically, the benefit of the girl who’d arrived in the Silver Circle just yesterday? She sounded kind of lonely, judging by the information obtained by Iko’s handy-dandy muffin spy.

She gave a decisive nod.

It was time.

“Wolf,” she said calmly, “the party cannon.”

_Time to bring out the big guns._

**v.**

Jacin peered past his window curtains. It was just as bad as he’d expected. Iko had not spared any efforts: the Blackburn front lawn was submerged in picnic blankets and plates piled with food, in apple-bobbing buckets and three-legged races and piñatas hanging from the trees.

An undignified mess of a party just waiting to happen.

Scoffing to himself, he pulled away from the window. _I suppose that’s the idea._

**vi.**

When the gunshot ricocheted through the air, Cinder’s hand jerked on the coffee mug, spilling it all over the table.

_Gunfire – oh my stars –_

Her heart thumped painfully in her chest as she scrambled out from behind the dining table and dashed to the front doors. She pressed her ear to the glass, but heard no screams, only faint shouting – and it sounded more annoyed than terrified.

She opened the doors a crack, not daring to look outside – 

“– scum, if I warned you once, I’ve warned you a hundred times,” someone was yelling, a woman with a thick French accent. “We don’t buy your useless crap, so don’t come around selling your lies! I can see right through you! And if you come back around again, so help me, I will aim a little better next time!”

Bewildered, Cinder eased open the doors and stepped out onto the porch, thinking that maybe she’d imagined the gunshot.

The first thing she registered was a man in a business suit, running down the Silver Circle’s main road as fast as his legs could carry him. 

The next thing was the redhead standing in the driveway across the street, breathing heavily, her hair curling against slightly pink cheeks. In her arms, the shotgun looked exactly like the weapon it was.

There was a moment of silence as the salesman’s yells faded. And then every eye on the street ( _wait,_ thought Cinder’s befuddled mind, _why are there so many people outside?_ ) slowly turned to her, who remained frozen on her front porch.

 _Just a really aggressive salesman and a_ really _aggressive Frenchwoman, nothing at all to worry abou-_

The party exploded around her.

**vii.**

It was like having trumpet fanfare blasted into her face. One moment was all she got to brace herself, to watch several of her neighbours lunge at her in what seemed like slow motion – and then they were shouting “SURPRISE!” all at once, hugging her and shaking her hand, full of smiles and welcome. And ignoring her protests, they dragged her away from her own porch and into the merriment.

Later, Cinder wouldn’t remember anything specific. There was a game of Twister in which several people bent themselves into painful-looking positions, while she stood comfortably on the side and called out colours. Then she was swept into a conga line that bopped around and around the Blackburn manor and left her light-headed. At some point, a baseball bat was pressed into Cinder’s hand and a blindfold tied around her eyes, and she was told to hit the piñata; in a fit of temporary madness, she clubbed that person around the head for trying to force a party game on her.

And now she had a sweet roll in one hand and a ginger ale in the other, with no idea how they’d gotten there; her head spun with all the sights and sounds so early in the morning (she really wanted that coffee right about now), and with the effort of remembering everyone’s names:

Carswell Thorne, all dark blond hair and winks and devilish grins, introduced himself as _Captain_ and declared that he was unbeatable in Uno. (“We’ll see about that,” said Cinder.) Ze’ev – or “Wolf”, as the others affectionately called him – was a shy wallflower, very polite, who may have once belonged to a street gang. The bashful opera singer called Cress was, apparently, a hermit (“I’m working on it,” she whispered, eyes trained on the ground) and seemed to be infatuated with Thorne. Scarlet, the Frenchwoman with the rifle, was kind but not _nice,_ which Cinder liked about her; she also told Cinder not to mind the neighbours who were acting like five-year-olds.

Then there was Dr. Erland, who Scarlet said (under her breath) was a mad scientist, and also rumored to be an illegal immigrant; Torin, who lived in Kai’s household, was maybe old enough to be a grandfather, and busy giving out disapproving looks. Emilie was all innocence and bubble gum, while her boyfriend, a hulking boulder of a man called Strom, sneered at everyone and everything. 

And Iko – Iko, the one with blue hair, the mastermind behind it all, who wrapped Cinder in a bear hug and muttered something about a “Jacin” and “shirking his duty”. In their first five minutes of one-sided conversation, Cinder learned that she had a weakness for shoes, a dislike for party poopers (Iko’s words, not hers) and a distinct fondness for handsome men.

“So what about you?” Iko asked when she had stopped for breath. She stepped back and took a pensive sip of soda, watching Cinder over the rim of her cup. “Where’re you from?”

“Nowhere,” Cinder said automatically. 

“Tut, everyone comes from _somewhere._ Me, I’m from Saskatchewan.”

Cinder pretended that she knew where that was. “You probably haven’t heard of it. Small town.” _Please don’t ask about my family._ Determined to turn the subject away from herself, she looked around the party: quite a few people had come in. Iko, like Scarlet, whispered their names in her ear: Li, neat and courteous … Gilles, who looked like he’d spent the afternoon drowning in a tavern … Huang Rikan, a strikingly handsome man in his late thirties – _wait, Huang sounds familiar, isn’t that the family name of – ?_

“KAI!”

Cinder ducked, her hands instinctively going to her ears as Iko’s shout reverberated through her skull.

“Oh, Cinder, so sorry – it’s just – KAI, OVER HERE!” Iko jumped up and down and waved, as if anyone could miss the hair flying indigo to aquamarine. When Kai had come far enough down the street that it was apparently no longer necessary to yell at the top of her lungs, Iko flourished a hand at Cinder with a big smile. “Kai, meet our newest friend, Linh Cinder!”

“We’ve met,” Cinder muttered, wincing as she brought her hands down from her ears. “Just last night, actually.”

Iko gasped, and Cinder cheeks flamed as she realized exactly how that sounded, but Kai only laughed. “Yes, I’ve had the honour of making Juliet’s acquaintance over the distance of our balconies.” He turned to her, his expression open and clear. “I hope you feel well rested?”

Cinder nodded. “Yes, thank you, Rome – Kai.”

“That’s good. I know how stressful moving can be. Especially to such an …” He glanced around the party, his lips twitching into an affectionate smile, “… _unusual_ neighbourhood.”

Ignoring Iko, who had turned to her with wide eyes of livid excitement and mouthed _“Romeo?”_ behind Kai’s back, Cinder tipped her head. “You don’t say.”

Kai grinned. Her skin started to tingle.

Someone chose that moment to throw a water balloon. It burst against the Kai’s cheek and drenched his blue shirt, leaving water droplets in his hair. Iko shrieked and jumped back.  
Cinder started, and turned to see “Captain” Carswell Thorne with two more water balloons in his hands. His blue eyes sparkled at them over the rim of the little wagon he’d pulled in front of himself, which was loaded with what looked like a hundred such balloons, full to exploding.

“Didn’t we agree,” said Kai, swiping at the water in his eyes, “that you are to give us fair warning before ambush?”

“Ah,” said Thorne, waggling his eyebrows, “but then it wouldn’t be an ambush. And anyway, what are you going to do, Huang? Throw a book at me?”

Cinder watched the two of them and it dawned on her that they were not, in fact, nemeses. They must be friends – the teasing, competitive kind who liked to fluff their feathers and challenge each other to battles of honour.

Because, instead of throwing a book, Kai smirked – and the look transformed him from a respectable and well-read young boy into a mischievous rogue.

“You,” he said, “are going _down.”_

Before Thorne could blink, Kai had lunged for the wagon of water balloons and overturned it. The little globules flopped and rolled through the grass, careening in all directions, and every single person in the backyard tensed.

They all knew what this meant.

“WAR!” someone yelled.

Shouting erupted. Half the partygoers threw themselves to the ground and covered their heads. The other half snatched up the weapons. And then, water balloons were whipping to and fro without mercy, flying through the air, as many exploding in the grass as finding their targets, and they were accompanied by war cries and things like “I’VE SWUM WITH SHARKS, I’M INDESTRUCTIBLE NOW!” and “ALPHA TEAM, OPERATION BLUE FEVER, GO!” 

Was it every man for himself? Could you count on your predetermined alliances? There was too much confusion to tell for sure.

Scarlet and Fateen were back-to-back, throwing like madwomen; at the centre of the chaos, yet somehow untouched, Winter laughed delightedly and jumped squarely on abandoned water balloons, soaking the grass and her bare feet. Nearby, a sprightly Dr. Erland ducked just in time to avoid a watery projectile, which flew over his head and hit Iko in the chest. The bluenette roared in fury and hurled her water balloon through the air. There was a pained exclamation from somewhere in the melee. Cress dove into the bushes.

And in the middle of it all was Cinder, crouched low on the grass, looking around and wondering whether it was possible to emerge from this battle unharmed. If she just kept away from the fight and didn’t bother anyone, maybe, just maybe, she could walk away with dry clothes –

A pink water balloon rolled to a stop at her feet.

Cinder swallowed, feeling the target paint itself on her forehead. She gingerly picked up the balloon.

When she looked up, Thorne was just a couple of metres away with a ball in each hand, and his eyes were pinned on her: a clear challenge. Before she could blink, he reared back his arm.

The balloon exploded in his face in a mess of water and pink elastic material. He sputtered, dragging his hands across his eyes, and in his moment of blindness Cinder dashed forward and swiped another from the ground and nailed him again in the stomach, hard enough that Thorne fell backwards with a dramatic groan.

“She got me!” he wailed, waving his arms in mock tragedy. “Captain down! Captain down!”

Several of his teammates stopped in their battles to look at him, lying on the ground … and then their gazes settled on his attacker. Who stiffened like a deer in headlights.

Eyes narrowed. Fingers curled around fresh projectiles.

Cinder didn’t have time to feel smug over her victory before she had to run for her life.

**viii.**

It was a neighbourhood-wide party, having spread to everybody’s lawns. All sorts of music – rock, jazz, the Macarena – blasted from every direction. The water fight hadn’t infected the opposite side of the street, though, so Cinder fled there. She dashed down the grassy alley between two large houses, breathing hard, and pressed herself up against the backyard door. It was as far as she could go.

For a moment she just stood there, bracing her hands on her knees, catching her breath.

_That was ridiculous. That was so childish! That was –_

_The most fun I’ve had in years._

This simple realization gave her pause. Cinder straightened and pushed strands of hair away from her eyes; her ponytail was coming undone.

When was the last time she’d really enjoyed herself? Sure, the party had left her a little taken aback, but really … really, she loved the feeling of not being watched, of being with people who didn’t _care_ if they were being watched. They were the opposite of Adri and her stiff obsession with appearing like a proper lady.

With a huff, Cinder leaned her head back on the backyard door. A rectangular piece of sky was visible between the two roofs under which she was hiding, and she stared up at the blue-and-white patchwork.

Then, out of the corner of her eye, she saw a tall figure emerge into the mouth of the alley, his pale blond hair stark against the red bricks. He might have moved on if he hadn’t glanced down the passage and seen her, braced against the backyard door. Distrust filled the set of his shoulders as he paused, watching her.

Cinder scrambled forward, explaining herself – “Sorry! Sorry, I know I shouldn’t be here. I was just trying to get away from the … you know, the … welcoming party?”

“The one Iko insists on throwing every time someone new comes around,” the man said dryly. His tone suggested ease, even boredom, but from the way he narrowed his eyes at her as she approached, he might have been calculating whether or not she would leap for his throat. “You must be the lucky newcomer.”

“Lucky,” Cinder sighed, and held out her hand. “I’m Cinder. Linh Cinder.”

He consented warily to the handshake. “Jacin Clay.”

“Ah …” She remembered now, what Iko had been growling about earlier. “I think Iko mentioned you. Were you supposed to come?”

Jacin raised an eyebrow, otherwise expressionless. “No.” At Cinder’s confused frown, he amended: “Maybe that’s what she wanted to think. But I never agreed to help or participate.”

“Oh,” she said again. “Well … it was … fun.”

He gave her a pitying look. “Just wait until she wakes you up in the middle of the night to toast the blue moon. Every national holiday? Fireworks. It’s Halloween? Organized zombie crawl. Someone got a promotion? Gift baskets and champagne. And not to mention, every month – “ He stopped, and gazed out at the slowly mellowing party.

“What? What happens?”

“Nothing. You’ll find out eventually.” Then, looking back at Cinder, Jacin seemed to remember something. “Do you normally mow your lawn at five in the morning?”

She blinked. “No.”

“Late-night Shakespeare re-enactments?”

“Uh … no?”

He ticked off the peculiarities on his fingers. “Any penchance for strange animals or garden plants that may or may not crawl through our windows?”

Cinder was beginning to see the point of the interrogation. “What, someone does that?”

“Made any questionable dealings with the mafia lately?”

 _“No,_ I – “

“Do you have any particular obsessions that we should be warned about?”

She bristled. “Look, I’m just your run-of-the-mill neighbour who happens to be a mechanic and doesn’t want to bother anyone, all right? And I’ll thank you not to judge people by their hobbies!”

Jacin considered her for a moment, and then nodded, appearing satisfied that the newest neighbour was not a lunatic.

Cinder blew out an exasperated breath. “Surely not everyone who comes here is – well – ,em>strange?”

“I don’t know how it happens,” said Jacin, “but somehow the Silver Circle seems to attract every misfit from here to the Pacific Ocean.” He looked back at the party. All his earlier derision had faded, and now there was something thoughtful in his eyes. “You wouldn’t believe some of the stories they bring – how they got here, who they were before.”

“If that’s so,” Cinder said lightly, “then I suppose I will be a misfit among misfits, because I wasn’t _anyone_ before.”

“How did you come here, anyway?” He didn’t give her a chance to explain. “Shifty circumstances, maybe, like Dr. Erland? Bought the house on auction? Or are you an undercover detective looking for evidence of Channary’s … shall we say, less honourable activities? Let me tell you, it’s a bit pointless now that she’s kicked the bucket.”

She rolled her eyes. “Sure, let’s go with that explanation.”

They turned to watch the party again. And Cinder smiled at the sight that met her: in a last outburst of festivity, her neighbours had begun some forgotten Celtic line dance, laughing and switching partners every few seconds.

And then, unbidden, her heart gave a pang. They looked so … carefree. 

A foreign word, a foreign feeling. To think that all these years, she had thought that being _normal_ would bring her happiness, that to fit in was to find a key to the secrets of life, and had squashed down any strangeness to where it would never show itself. Only now, as she watched the bright, collective spirit of the Silver Circle, did she realize how wholly unremarkable she was. The thought of it made her sad.

“But other than that,” she said softly, “I’m very much an ordinary person.”

Jacin heard the wistfulness in her voice, but he tactfully kept his eyes trained on the dancing, even as a rueful half-smile turned his mouth.

“Don’t worry,” he said. “We’re all mad here.”

**ix.**

All five of them were sitting on the carpeted floor together, awake despite the late hour. Cress had settled onto her stomach, chin propped up on her hands; Scarlet leaned forward over the cat in her lap as she listened to Cinder’s tale. Emptied bowls of fruit and instant noodles lay scattered around them.

“… guess I got used to it,” Cinder was saying, her eyes cast down, picking at the worn but familiar pajamas she was wearing. She hadn’t touched the expensive nightgowns in her late mother’s closet. “Eventually the insults don’t bother you anymore. It was more the … how she was so _unfair,_ that’s what really got to me. Little things. Like the time she had ball gowns personally tailored for Pearl and Peony, but didn’t budget for mine … I should have expected it, but it still made me angry.”

“She sounds horrible,” Cress said in a hushed voice, her blue eyes wide. “I can’t believe she would do that when her husband’s last request was to treat you well!”

Scarlet sighed loudly. 

“Too naïve?”

“Way too naïve.”

“I’m working on it,” Cress mumbled into her sleeping bag.  
Winter hummed thoughtfully from where she lay on her back. She arched her neck to peer at Cinder upside-down. “Luna, I’m glad you came to us. I hope you’ll like it here.”

Cinder was once again startled by the direct, honest way that Winter spoke. It gave her pause. _Did_ she like it here? 

Well … yes. Surprisingly. Ever since her welcoming party, Cinder had felt herself thawing – relaxing, slowly, allowing herself to speak freely and be herself. She’d helped Scarlet tend her garden, and found that she liked the redhead’s company; they spent hour upon hour either talking or in comfortable silence. She’d woken up smiling every morning to the sound of Cress’s wonderful song. She’d even allowed Iko to take her shopping, letting the bluenette cram her into changing stall after changing stall, if only to savour the feeling of … of …

Of having friends.

Before Cinder could reply, Cress asked curiously, “Why’d you call her Luna?”

Iko nodded sagely and tapped one finger against her chin. “Cinder seems more like a … like a …”

“Like a ‘glass slipper’?” Scarlet offered, half joking. “’Pumpkin’, maybe?”

“Oh, gee,” Cinder said, rolling her eyes, “Like I’ve never heard that one before.”

“No, no,” Iko said, displeased, and furrowed her brow. “Those aren’t any good … we might have to ask Jacin.” She scowled, as if she would rather devour a slug than ask a favour of their prickliest neighbour.

“I’ll ask him,” Winter said cheerfully. “But I think he’ll agree that Luna is the best name for her.”

“Why?” asked Cinder.

“Oh, I don’t know. You just seem like a girl from the moon to me. A girl with many homes, small towns and palaces both.”

Iko’s eyes lit up. “I know that voice! You have another story, don’t you?”

“Really?” Cress breathed, leaning closer. “Oh, tell us, Winter, please!”

“Very well,” Winter said dramatically, swinging up her arms and gesturing in the air – painting pictures, leading them into an imaginary world. “Tonight, I tell you about the adventures of an invisible girl in a very big city, who thought she was just like any other Earthen. Once upon a time …”

They all leaned a little closer as their kindest, craziest, dreamiest friend began to tell the story like a bedtime fairy-tale, flying them away from the basement in the Silver Circle and into another universe, spinning and spinning and spinning them into sleep.

Cinder closed her eyes, feeling peace settle over her like a warm blanket. 

They were here for her tonight, and would be there for her when she woke up.

**x.**

On the morning of the full moon, she stepped out onto her porch, yawning, and blindly reached for the newspaper. Instead, her hand brushed against something else.

A paintball gun.

The yawn froze in her mouth. Cinder rubbed her eyes and looked again. Yep – it was an honest-to-goodness paintball gun, fully put together and ready to be fired. A few pellet cartridges were stacked neatly alongside it on her welcome mat. And there was a note.

Cinder picked it up and squinted to decipher the scrawled message.

_Here is your weapon. Everybody else has one, too. Good luck._

A slow smile spread over her face.


	7. Fourth Time's the Charm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Based on a Tumblr prompt. Sort of AU.
> 
> (Disclaimer: I know nothing - I repeat, _nothing_ \- about how a sovereign would speak to someone arrested for attempted burglary or worse. I don't even know if this story is plausible. But who cares, right? This is fanfiction! It's meant to be implausible!)
> 
> (Feel free to skip past parts i, ii and iii if it suits you. You don't need them. They're just ... pointless backstory that I wrote for some reason. If you want to go to the bro-ship right away, scroll down to iv. That said, I'd be very pleased if you read the backstory anyway.)

**i.**

The first time someone tried to assassinate him, Kai had been in the middle of an etiquette lesson.

He was fourteen. Torin – his teacher – had a problem with the young prince's nervous tics, like his habit of gesturing with cutlery during dinner conversation.

"No, no, _no,"_ he would snap, interrupting Kai's practised small talk. "Don't wave your fork around like that, you're bound to paint someone's clothes with a carrot!"

Or, "For goodness' sake, boy, stop clinking with your spoon. It is deemed uncouth." When Kai would protest that it was hard to stir his tea like that, Torin would stare at him across the banquet table, slowly swish the spoon around in his own cup _without making a sound,_ and raise his eyebrows as if to say, _there, you see?_

To which Kai would respond by sulking.

A servant came in with a fresh platter of roast duck, what would have been the third course during an actual banquet. The sound of the knife being drawn free was harsh and clear in the wide hall – which was empty but for the teacher, the prince, and the prince's guards, all of whom were looking forward to have some meat be cut for a pretend luncheon. No one thought anything of it until the servant had spun on her heel and the knife was whirling through the air, end over end, directly at Kai's chest.

Several things happened at once. The two guards yanked Kai aside, tipping him over in his chair, as the knife whizzed through empty space. The servant turned to run. And Torin, with strength no one could have suspected of him, gripped his end of the long table and flipped it over, right on the assassin's heels. She crashed to the ground.

One of the guards dashed to subdue her, the other sticking close to the prince. Kai managed to brace himself on one elbow, breathing heavily, and raised his eyes to his etiquette teacher. Torin was already tapping away on his port. In another minute, he had put it away and gave the would-be killer a cool look.

"Now _that,"_ he said disdainfully, sitting down again with an aristocratic sniff, "was just rude."

**ii.**

Attempt number two happened during the annual peace festival when he was seventeen. Kai had been wandering around for a while with no guards or surveillance whatsoever, all thanks to his gray hoodie. Granted, the chip in his neck meant that they knew where he was at all times, and there were probably a few guards somewhere in the crowd, but at least he didn't have to announce his presence by having them constantly at his back.

Kai cautiously approached a wine-tasting stand. He didn't usually drink, but the spicy aromas emanating from the kiosk just about made his mouth water.

"Try this one," the bearded wineseller encouraged him, holding out a paper cup filled with dark red liquid. "Very good, high quality. From the Silver Isles. Hints of raspberry and lemon." He smiled as Kai took the cup to his mouth and tipped his head back. "You like that sort of flavour, don't you, Your Highness?"

The wine had already passed his lips when Kai remembered that he was incognito. No civilian was supposed to know his identity.

He coughed violently, fearing the worst. It wasn't half a blink before half a dozen guards-dressed-as-partygoers appeared out of nowhere and converged upon the booth. There were yells, there was a crash as a wine barrel was dislodged and rolled down the street, and then there was a black city hover that cut through the crowd and stopped in front of the scene. A medic jumped out and ushered Kai inside. And a good thing, too, because his mind was already going woozy. Once he was safely behind the hover window, an antidote was forced down his throat and he was rushed to the palace without further delay.

Emperor Rikan was furious. Not just with the assassin and the guards who had barely gotten to their charge in time, but with Kai for being so stupid as to taste food or drink at the festival. They had always been so careful after that first attempt, when the servant spy had been _this close_ to killing the crown prince. They had all relaxed after a few years.

It must not happen again, Rikan declared. But of course it happened anyway.

**iii.**

Attempt number three occurred just months after the second and was much more subtle. There had been a dagger and a cup of poisoned wine, both of them one-shots with no backup plan; this time, the enemies of the Commonwealth's royal family tried something else. And they were partially successful.

The plague had spread over the Earth like wildfire over the past nine years or so and even though the Union's scientists had put their heads together to figure out a cure, every effort had fallen short. Letumosis was a wolf in the night that could set upon a city without warning, killing everyone it came into contact with. No one knew where it came from or how it could be stopped. The only certain thing was that once someone contracted the blue fever, they were as good as dead. Perhaps that was why someone made it their weapon of choice.

It must have been that box of paperback books, the doctors told Kai afterward. Someone must have gotten hold of the shipment – specifically requested by the crown prince himself – and programmed an android to take one of the books and keep it in a quarantine for a few days. Once it was infected, the android would put it back, seal the box, and send it on its way to the palace. No one would have actually come into contact with the contents of that box until the prince himself. It would have been screened by machinery and androids, yes, for explosives and such, but he would have been the first to open that book, the first to turn the pages and get whiff after whiff of plagued air.

Except it didn't quite happen like that.

Rikan, too, loved paper books, especially the second-era stories that his son commissioned from rare-book libraries. Evidently, in a bout of fatherly mischief, he had found the box and opened it before Kai. He had probably taken out the book on top and caressed it with the same awe and respect that every third-era person held for something so archaic.

He was dead before the week's end.

Kai never got to read the precious novels he'd so looked forward to. Every one of them was burnt. And when he realised – as he must have, eventually – who the intended victim had been, the weight of guilt was added to his shoulders to rest alongside grief and the new weight of the crown.

**iv.**

There was a certain debate in the Commonwealth that had been going on for quite some time, eventually giving rise to a major civic issue.

Letumosis research was still under way with no antidote in sight. People were getting desperate. New batches of possible cures were cooked up almost daily, but they were tested at an abysmal rate for the lack of human volunteers. (Kai could hardly blame them – who in their right mind would sign their own death sentence by allowing themselves to be infected with the blue fever?) And at the same time, a different kind of controversy had cropped up in the form of the EC's growing cyborg population. Cyborgs had too many advantages, many people argued; they were cheating the average man out of his wages. Some measure had to be taken to even out the scales.

One of Kai's advisors suggested a solution: pick one cyborg every day by lottery and test the antidotes on _them._

The young emperor was hesitant, but pressure built on him from the many members of his government personnel who thought it was the right thing to do. Kai finally called a meeting with Torin, General Huy, and all the rest of them to discuss the idea of a cyborg draft and make a final decision.

It was a long and frustrating conference. His head ached when he finally left and made his way into the royal suite, flanked by two guards.

They were almost to the lounge when his left guard, Ling, gripped his arm. "Your Majesty."

Kai gave a start. He'd been lost in his own thoughts. Now he pricked his ears and heard what Ling had picked up on first – raised voices, thuds, grunts, the sounds of a tussle.

The guard on his right - Darien - strode up to the doorway and peered around the corner.

"What is it?" said Kai.

"The others have found an intruder." Frowning, Darien turned back to him. "Shall we take him to the captain of the guard, Your Majesty?"

"No, no. I want to see this."

Darien nodded. He and Ling fell into step with him, but just ahead, so that they entered first.

What Kai saw as he rounded the corner was a bit more dramatic than he had been expecting.

Three or four other guards, all of whom were thoroughly disheveled and breathing hard, were struggling to hold down a fifth man who appeared to be in far better shape than they were. Young, maybe in his early twenties, lithe and muscular; he wore an all-black utilitarian getup that contrasted sharply with his pale blond hair. And even in his undignified position – trussed up and forced to lie face-down on the carpeted floor – he still managed to retain a cold, composed countenance that rivaled even the emperor.

"Your Majesty," said one of the captors, "this man was caught sneaking in through a nearby window."

"How did he get up?" Ling demanded, from Kai's left. "We're on the fourteenth storey."

The other guard jerked his head at the long, black rappelling cord still pooled at the foot of the couch. It seemed to have snapped somewhere in the middle.

Kai looked at the burglar, who looked back at him, but sideways (his face was still smushed into the carpet). There was a brief pause as they assessed each other.

"So which are you?" Kai asked finally. "Kidnapper, killer or spy?"

Another pause. The burglar's gaze flicked upward, to where the guard was holding his head down.

Kai sighed. "Let him speak."

The guard scowled but eased his grip. The burglar answered, with dignity that was impressive under his circumstances, "I'd be a fool to tell you that, Your Majesty. Make an educated guess."

The corner of Kai's mouth quirked. By his guess … the black-clad man could be any number of the three. He turned to the guards holding him down. "Who is he?"

"He'll say nothing," said one, "but he had this" – a handgun was produced from the guard's belt and offered hilt-first to Ling, who took it with narrowed eyes – "and these" – several knives were removed and placed carefully on a side table – "and this" – a small vial of what was probably poison ( _Okay,_ Kai thought, _assassin it is)_ – "and this." A small portscreen was set down next to the vial. "There was also a small number of weapons in his boots and sleeves. All are engraved with the initials J.C."

"J.C.," Kai repeated, trying it on for size. _Jay-see._ Inadvertently, he started to call the intruder Jace in his mind.

"Have you checked it for identity?" Darien asked from the emperor's right side, nodding at the port.

"We, uh …" Guard number one was starting to look embarrassed. The tips of his ears went pink as he glanced at his fellows. "We haven't had the chance."

Kai couldn't help raising an eyebrow. No, they wouldn't have had the chance, because all their focus had been on restraining Jace. _He must have put up a fierce fight._ But still, it wouldn't do for their burglar to try to speak through a mouthful of carpet. "Let him sit up."

"Your Majesty," Darien said in a low voice, "he is already dangerous - "

"How much more dangerous could he get, really?"

"Lethal," Jace said serenely.

Ignoring him, Kai motioned at the guards, and they reluctantly allowed the burglar to get to his knees.

"Calling for backup now," Ling muttered, tapping away on his port.

"Is that really necessary?" said Kai, with a dubious look. "He's just one man, and there are six of you."

Jace smiled knowingly.

"Backup would be nice," guard number two admitted.

"Would you check his port?" Kai said to Darien, an indirect command. Darien nodded and took it from the table, but as soon as he powered it on, he was met with a lock screen and the request for a password. "A job for a hacker, then."

"Please," Jace sneered. "It's programmed by the very best."

 _"The best work_ with you, do they?"

"That's one way to put it."

Kai clasped his hands behind his back. "So what went wrong?"

"I'm sorry?"

The guards were giving him strange looks, probably because of the relaxed way he was speaking to their arrestee, but Kai couldn't help his honest curiosity. "You work with the best, and from what I see, you're not too shabby yourself when it comes to covert operations. So how did this one get messed up?"

"The rappelling cord." Jace's voice was clinical, dispassionate. "Snapped before I could touch down on the balcony."

"It was faulty, then?"

A slight clenching of the jaw. "And there was supposed to be a guard shift."

"I see." Kai tipped his head. "You know, I'm rather intrigued. The last three attempts on my life were much better funded and prepared."

Jace closed his eyes in mock exasperation. "Tell me about it. How _could_ they have gone wrong?"

"I think they might not have been straightforward enough." Kai glanced down at the burglar's gun, where it had been placed in full sight on the side table. "Clearly you wouldn't have had that problem."

"Probably not."

Okay. They seemed to be on relatively honest terms. Time to ask a real question. "Can you tell me why you want me dead? Or, at least, why others may want me dead?"

"Oh, I wouldn't go quite so far as to say that _I_ want you dead, Your Majesty."

"But the other attempts - ?"

"I know that some people didn't think much of how your father ran the country," Jace said flatly. "I know that some people thought it better to cut off your dynasty, than to kill the _esteemed_ Rikan and have you grow up to be just like him. No apple could fall far from the tree, they say." He raised an impassive eyebrow. "I'm just their … emissary."

Kai considered him for a moment.

Then he said to the guards, "You may take him to a holding cell. I'd like to have a proper chat, somewhere we won't be overheard."

Jace narrowed his eyes. "Oh good. I rather want to have a chat, too."

He moved fast. Like, blink-and-you'll-miss-it fast. One moment, the burglar was on his knees, restrained by four guards and monitored by two more; the next, he was on his feet and darting through their ranks with deadly precision. One by one they fell unconscious to the ground. Only Ling had time to give a yell before the handle of a knife slammed into his temple, and his eyes rolled back in his head as he slumped against the couch.

Kai's mouth fell open as his brain caught up with what he saw. He staggered back. He was a fool, an _idiot._ Why on earth had he felt compelled to talk to a captured intruder before the situation was fully under control? Ling had called for backup, but if they hadn't arrived by now, it would be too late when they did.

Jace whirled on him, a blade flashing in each hand. Kai backed away, recalling faintly how the servant girl's knife had whistled through the air when he was fourteen.

"You wanted to know why someone might want you dead," Jace reminded him in a low voice, advancing one step at a time. "Better ask yourself this: why would someone _not_ want you dead? Have you ever wondered why you haven't suffered further assassination attempts, after the plague-infested book?"

Kai could only stare at him in apprehension. What was he getting at?

"Because you are not like your father," Jace answered himself, icy eyes pinning Kai to the wall behind him. "Because most of your people actually like the way you run the Commonwealth, and you didn't disappoint when you took the crown. Even so, there are those who still have their doubts … including myself." He stepped forward again, lifting his chin imperiously so that he could look down his nose at Kai. "So answer me this, _Your Majesty_ … what was the outcome of your meeting?"

"I – what?"

"The _cyborg draft,"_ Jace emphasized, with a touch of impatience. "Did you approve it?"

Kai scowled to hide his confusion. "What does that have to do with anything?"

"Did. You. Approve it?"

"No. No, I didn't. There won't be a draft. We'll get volunteers some other way."

Jace looked down at him with narrowed eyes. Searched the emperor's face.

Then he gave an abrupt nod of satisfaction. "Good."

"Why do you want to know?" Kai demanded, watching as the would-be assassin spun back toward the table and began tucking knives into his boots, sleeves and belt. "What does it matter?"

"It means everything. Your principles, your value of human life – that draft could prove or disprove what kind of ruler you are." The port was clipped on and the gun hidden away. "In fact, it already has."

 _"Has_ it."

Jace turned back to him. His face was as unreadable as ever, but Kai thought he could detect a hint of triumph in the faint twitch of the other's mouth.

"I didn't come here to assassinate you, Your Majesty."

"No?"

"No. Well, half-and-half."

Kai squinted. "What."

"I came to ascertain whether you had approved the draft or not," Jace clarified. "If you had, you would be dead right now and the Commonwealth would be looking for a better emperor. But if you hadn't" – he produced a fragment of paper, _actual paper,_ from his pocket – "I would give you this."

Kai snatched away the note. On it was scribbled a time and address. "And what will I be doing at … fifteen-thirty Marsh Street?"

"Meeting your new secret service," said Jace, "and a long-lost princess." He bent down to loop the broken rappelling cord around his arm and walked up to the still-open window. He glanced back at the emperor and said, as if in afterthought, "She would have been very disappointed if you'd chosen to approve the draft."

 _Lost princess?_ "Hang on" – Kai looked down at the note again in disbelief, then back up at Jace. "Why should I go? You could be luring me into a trap, for all I know."

Jace snorted. "If I wanted to kill you, Your Majesty …" He gestured around at the unconscious guards. "I would have done it by now. Besides, you're far too valuable to the country." He hitched the spool around his shoulders and prepared to climb through the window. "Never fear. We know how to contact you later. Any last questions?"

 _Hundreds,_ thought Kai, but a simple start might be just the thing. "What's your name?"

The burglar paused. Seemed to consider it.

"Jacin," he said finally. "Jacin Clay."

An incredulous smile spread over Kai's face. "An alias?"

"No, birth name. Consider it a guarantee of trust. Is something funny?"

"No," said Kai, shaking his head. _Jace, Jacin. What do you know?_ He stuffed the note into his trouser pocket. "Nothing. Tell your princess hi for me."

Jacin rolled his eyes and clambered over the edge of the window. But just before he vanished, Kai could have sworn that he heard him mutter dryly, _"Which one?"_


End file.
